“Lala”

I’ve become acutely aware of her turning into a little girl. 

Her 4th birthday looms around the corner. The frame of her body morphing into a lean and tall toddler on the precipice of losing her uniquely adorable belly. 

She’s incredibly sweet. I couldn’t even describe it in words. It’s the kind of thing very few people can witness- those who know her well- those who embrace her with open arms and squeeze her just tight enough to fill your heart with joy. 

And she won’t rush you.

She will linger in her embrace, often adding in words, unsolicited, like “I love you, mama”. 

And when I ask her how much she loves me, her arms spread wide and her cheeks magically double in size, her white teeth on display. Her cat-shaped eyes crinkle slightly. 

She’s excited to show me just how much. 

And on other sweet occasions she’ll casually run her small hand over my head, saying things like, “mommy your hair is so beautiful, is like ‘R’punzel hair”. 

Her compliments. The way she’ll burst into tears when she thinks I’m mad at her. The way she’ll plead, emphatically, “I’m soooooo sorry!! You be so mad at me!”

Almost 4.

I lament almost daily that I’m not capturing everything. But more often than not, in those moments when I plan to write or take a photo I’m lost in the presence of the moment, holding you, rocking you (though you’re so long and heavy it’s not as easy as it once was), or giving you a snack (you’re always hungry- you’ve inherited my appetite).

Your sister, Sayler, is a more patient big sister than most. But she’s not *always* all sunshine and roses. She’ll lock you out of your shared room. You’ll bang on the door, cry, and yell out “Sayler, please open the door! It’s your sister, Alana!”.... “I’m your sister!!”.... “sister, please!”

Sayler will go deaf. Unphased by your woeful cries. 

But more often than not, you two play magically together. 5 years between you, one wouldn’t guess because of the very natural and loving relationship you two share. 

You emanate brightness. 

You give more than you take.

I lament and marvel that you are almost 4. And it has completely flown by.  I’ll never hold you as a newborn, an infant, a baby, a burgeoning toddler again. 

And certainly my sadness is magnified because you are my last baby. 

But for as long as you’ll let me , I’ll hold your body close to mine. Your knees curled up to fit on my lap, my arms wrapped around you. You ask me to rock you, and sing to you. Which we both think is a little hilarious because I don’t know the words to lullabies and you have to give me some words to use sometimes.

I love the way you sing. The sweet, tiny voice, that sings in the bath, in the car, and in your bedroom as you idly play. Your favorite songs are those from the Frozen || Soundtrack at the moment. 

If I could bottle your love and energy, others would pay a steep price for just an ounce.  Your goodness, the joy you burst into from the moment you wake, your infectious laugh, the way you say “I’m just choking!” when you’ve said a clever joke...

We love you. Profusely. Enormously.